No Touch No Words
by Fat Puppy
Summary: Pre-TPM. Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon POV as he struggles to help his apprentice deal with trauma.


**No Touch. No Words.**

**Summary: Pre-TPM. Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon POV as he struggles to help his apprentice deal with trauma.**

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I sat close. Not knowing what else to do. No touch. No words. Just there. The healers had said he'd reach out when he could. But he didn't. Not right away. So I kept my quiet vigil at his side. Waiting. Hoping that he would come back to me.

And he did. Eventually and silently. A felt the slightest of pushes against my shoulder from his own. A lean.

A relief rushed though me. Obi-Wan would come back to me. In time.

There had been no physical abuse, no obvious injuries, no

open wounds. Just the scars on his neck from the Force collar that had been locked onto him during their 'Jedi experiments.' Experiments that left a victim mentally broken through the use of some sick type of Force games. Obi-Wan had been found lying in a pile on a dirty basement floor. Two others with him. Both broken.

I took him home against the wishes of the healers. But he needed familiarity. He needed comfort. He needed safe. He needed home. I cared, though I didn't, how the other two master's dealt with their own padawans. I had my own focus. My own worries were many. I couldn't leave Obi-Wan in the sterility of a hospital ward staring at the faces of the others who'd been broken with him.

Risha, the trauma healer was there. In our home. Helping. Guiding. Telling me what not to say and what not to do. No touch. No words. Just presence.

"Give him time, Qui-Gon. Lots of time. You have my comm. I'm available if you need me or any of my team."

I nodded. Afraid to speak or move with Obi-Wan at my side. He still leaned just enough so shoulders brushed. Less than a day removed from that basement. That horror. Eighteen years in age, but more frightened than a young child. How could I ever help that type of fear? Perhaps I was wrong in taking him from the healing ward. I didn't know. Hope was all I had.

My breaths slowed and deepened as we sat. I found rhythm and was surprised with Obi-Wan fell in with me, at least for a moment. The tiniest of steps.

With the help of the Force, I pulled one of my paper books from the shelf. One that Obi-Wan had a fondness for when he was younger. I sat and read quietly. A slight head turn and I could feel his eyes searching for the words on the page. I folded the book flat to allow him to read along with me. In silence.

He did. Three pages later he spoke. It was a voice so quiet that I had to focus hard to hear.

"I like this book."

Four words. Four beautiful words. I released a long breath into the Force.

I still didn't speak back to him. Nor make any movements other than changing the pages. No touch. No words. Remembering the guidance of the healers. _Let him come to you. _

Time passed as we sat together. Still only a whisper of fabric against the other. Shoulder to shoulder. Obi-Wan was tired. Exhausted. But too frightened to sleep. He read with me. Followed my hands carefully as they flipped a page. An hour became two became three. I was faltering. Struggling to keep my eyes from closing. Setting the book down, I adjusted my body ever so slightly to reduce the numbness I'd begun to feel from being stationary for such an extended period.

Obi-Wan reached for the book as I moved to set it aside.

"Please." He said. I set the book carefully into his hands. Watching as he opened it back to the marked page and studied it.

I had to move. I had to get up. Obi-Wan's needs seemed greater than my own however. There was no movement that I attempted. Small steps of progress had been made. I was terrified I'd undo it all with the basic task of simply standing long enough to use the bathroom. So I sat. And waited. Hoping exhaustion would win out. It didn't, but my apprentice did give me relief.

"Squirming too much. You should go." More words. Words telling me that it was okay to leave him for a moment. I did. I hurried. He sat steady on the couch still so I took a few more moments. Tea. Hot. Sweet-spice. Obi-Wan's favorite. Even if he wouldn't drink it, the smell was one of home. One of safety.

I set a cup in front of him as I assumed my position again next to him. Shoulders brushed once more. The lean a bit heavier this time. Trust. Safety. But still, I attempted no touch, no words. I allowed him to make every move.

Ample time passed for the tea to warm, he reached for it. A sip. Two. Then three. I felt the slightest of tension release from his shoulder. Another precious step. We could do this, Obi-Wan. We _would_ do this.

More hours passed. Pages turned slower. Heads bobbled. I leaned mine back to rest. Obi-Wan refused to allow the darkness of sleep in and jerked his head upright each time it began to fall.

He fell toward me once, then popped right back up. But his words defied his actions of determination.

"Tired. So tired."

My eyes closed tight. I wanted so badly to respond. To say something. For him to hear my voice. But I caught myself each time. No touch. No words. Let Obi-Wan to come to me. Risha had said it was the quickest path to getting him well. Though it was also the most difficult. For me.

Next time, his head fell against my shoulder. I tensed briefly before relenting. There was no move to pick his head up or move away from me. Steps. So small. So difficult. Again I put all my focus into not reaching out. No arm around him, no comforting thoughts, no tendrils of softness through the Force. No touch. No words.

I didn't know what time it was when I woke, but it was daylight. My neck was cricked. My back ached. My legs were numb. And a strange weight lay against me. Or rather on me. Head resting on my lap, curled horizontal along the couch. My apprentice. At some point during the night, he'd found the courage to trust enough to tuck himself next to me. I felt a smile light my face as I reached down to...no, no, no. Not yet. Not until I knew it safe. Until I knew my touch and my words would be welcomed and not terrifying.

The book again. I picked up were I'd left off. At some point I felt movement. Obi-Wan had adjusted position to see the pages again.

"Wrong page. Was on ninety-two."

I turned to that page, where he had eared the top right corner. I frowned, knowing how I hated to have my books marked in such a way. Obi-Wan must have felt the brief change in mood.

"Bent the page. Sorry, Master."

Master. Another wave of relief. I dared now to reach out to him. No touch, but perhaps...

"It's all right, Padawan. It's only paper." Soft. Gentle. Quiet. My words.

And those words apparently opened the path for more. Obi-Wan took several long shaking breaths before he spoke again. "Was scared, Master." A pause. "So scared."

Another chance, as I spoke again. "I know you were, Padawan." Purposely using the affectionate title. A title that I'd never used in anger or rebuke. It meant only fondness. Family.

He curled tighter to me. And into himself. I didn't yet reach back. Words yes. But still no touch. Not yet. Another step.

"Hate them, Master. What they did. Hate them."

Was it permitted to hate? The Jedi always counseled against it or other strong, similar emotions. But if we could love, we could hate. Feeling was one thing. Acting on that feeling was another. I could not find blame in Obi-Wan's confession. I hated them too. For what they did to my apprentice. For the pain and fear and struggle they caused him.

"I know you do, Padawan."

"You hate them too, Master?"

I did. I do. And I was content with those feelings at this moment. I could meditate on them later, but now... "Yes, Padawan. I do hate them." An admission I'd never make to anyone at any time. But for the sanity of my apprentice...

"Master."

"Here, Padawan."

"The others. Two."

The two other apprentices that had suffered the same. What he was asking, I knew. "They are safe and under the care of the healers."

Obi-Wan adjusted against me, still prone. "Tried to stop it. Tried to get them to hurt only me, not the others. Younger. Maybe second year. Hard to know."

He was correct. Both of the other apprentices were second year students. Healer Terran had told me. Obi-Wan was far their senior and the more experienced are required to take lead. That he offered himself in place of them...

"I am proud of you, Padawan. For looking after them."

"Still hurt them. Didn't make it better." He sighed heavily and pulled in a rattled breath. The feeling of failure. I knew it. Could sense it. Even if the idea of him having failed was furthest from the truth.

"You tried, Padawan. And you offered yourself in place of young ones. That's all you could've done."

He didn't believe my words. Obi-Wan always carried with him an inkling of the fear of failure in his mind. From our first day as Master and Apprentice, it was there. Wanting so much to do right every time. Something that wasn't possible, for anyone. Ever.

My comm chimed. Terran. Always concerned over his young patients. I asked about the other two apprentices. His coded message was that they were struggling. Obi-Wan understood all too well, even through the healer's scrambled words.

"They are not well, Master."

My words. I chose them carefully. Obi-Wan was still fragile. "They are not, Padawan. They will live, though recovery will take time."

"I didn't do more. Didn't save them."

I didn't know how much I should react to his continued doubts. If this had been something as simple as a failed mission, I would have instructed him on his weakness and assigned him tasks and training to work the problem areas. This was not that. This was not anything that training or homework would fix. And continuing to tell him that he had done all he could, it was nothing more than a circle that he would not wish to hear. So, I kept silent. No words.

Instead, I carefully reached out to him. My hand softly landing on his shoulder. He faced away from me, head still quiet in my lap and I did not wish to startle. There was no flinch at the touch. No pull back. Obi-Wan simply let out an emotional sigh and pulled on broken breaths.

The weak and desperate reach to me then with the faintest calling of "Master." Right hand extending upwards to squeeze my fingers. Risha's guidance echoed in my mind. _Let him come to you. _He would. He did. I released a breath I had no idea I'd been holding for the last half a minute. My eyes closed as I let my apprentice hold to my hand. There was a benign tug on my fingers as he pulled my hand from his shoulder and to where he could clutch it against his chest.

Muted tears I could feel now. They flowed off his cheeks and against the fabric of my clothing. His struggle at this moment was less about his own feelings of terror and pain and more for the two he had been unable to help. They would labor and their struggle would be more difficult than his own. They were so young. Unfledged. This was a battle they had not been prepared for. I had hope however, that those who cared for them would work magic and we would see the two of them again ready and eager to serve the Jedi.

Days passed. Obi-Wan improved with still far to travel. He now stood closer to me than before. I'd have referred to it as clinging, but it was not desperate so much as a simple need to feel safe. Risha assured me that the need would pass in time, but that I take no action to refute it. She agreed that Obi-Wan was making good progress and that my initial reaction in the first hours after he'd come home had been most beneficial. No touch. No words. Never had the simple actions of not speaking or reaching out been so difficult or distressing.

This evening, Obi-Wan detached from me long enough to visit the other two apprentices. They'd made steps; nothing close to what Obi-Wan had achieved. He worried for them. And would continue to. I found him expressing his best wishes to their masters. I knew of both master Jedi, but did not _know_ them. Distraught, but stoic. I could sense the Force swirling around them in confusion. They were angry. Rightfully so, but appreciated Obi-Wan's concern. I felt no sense of blame, despite Obi-Wan's persistent feelings of failure on their behalf.

I had spoken to Risha, the trauma healer about those concerns. Her suggestion was to re-direct the conversation. He may never get past those feelings, especially if the apprentices did not achieve complete recovery. There was little I could do or offer. Only Obi-Wan could come to terms in his own time.

One week after this began, Obi-Wan sat alone. The balcony of his bedroom had become his salvation.

"May I join you, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master. Of course. You never need ask."

Taking a place, legs crossed, touching shoulders. He leaned toward me.

Touch. Words. Relief.

"I don't wish to intrude on your solitude, Padawan."

I'd not stopped using the affectionate term since this all began. Risha's suggestion. Obi-Wan responded to it. It was a feeling of home and belonging.

"You are always welcome, Master."

Head settling against my shoulder, his right hand fiddled with his braid. A habit he'd developed years ago when he was dead tired but needing to tell me something. I recognized the gesture.

"You wish to tell me something, Padawan?"

For a moment, only silence reigned. I waited.

"Thank you, Master. For helping me. For saving me." He finally said.

I smiled. "It is my duty to train you. To raise you, Padawan. But more so, you are my family and I will always walk with you when it is darkest. There is no need to thank me, but you are most welcome."

Words.

I reached out and wrapped an arm around my apprentice.

Touch.

And the Force warmed around us.

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END


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